Baggage

You know who you are:

Adoration and shame.
Mixed up desire, unrequited.

I scour my reflection for anything out of place saying

"For a woman of my age-it ain't all bad"

Don't sell yourself short-  escape and soar to amazing heights. Daring short skirts and leaving yourself wide open at night.

Thrill at the thought of being noticed, wanted.

And swallow it so hard and fast, hope Gutted burns in your chest, leaden.

A woman of my age and obligations.

Foolish.

You'd sell yourself short to consider it.

Consider me.

You know who you are.
And I know its not me.

Bumbling through corners to escape. Hiding a red face that's stayed too long.
Just ask me.

I look in the mirror and say

It ain't all bad.

But you know who you are.
And I know its not me.

Foolish anyway,
I wait for a call that will not come.